Till I've Kept You
by Stapling Pages
Summary: on hold for revision / An Occlumency lesson has an unexpected side effect and Harry is the one paying for it. slash
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_.

Pairings: Lord Voldemort/Harry Potter;

Warnings: dark; slash; dubious-consent (sexual and otherwise); canon deviations;

Summary: An Occlumency lesson has an unexpected side effect and Harry is the one paying for it.

Author's Notes: I've been sitting on this idea for a while now, and I'm still not completely sold on it, so update will be slow in coming. However, I do have the vast majority of this planned out, and it's only a matter of buckling down and writing it. Also, this hasn't been beta-ed, so if you see any typos or anything like that, please let me know so I can fix it.

Any feedback or constructive criticisms would be very appreciated.

_**IMPORTANT WARNING**_: there is a scene that might be triggering for anyone who has been assaulted either sexually or otherwise. Please proceed with caution.

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><p><strong>Till I've Kept You<strong>

**Chapter One**

Harry tried to ignore Hermione and Ron as they argued. They just kept going on and on about the same things; kept glancing at him as though he was going to explode. He wished they would stop. It wasn't like he cared about or wanted to be a Prefect; he had enough things to deal with without the added responsibilities. He just wished they'd stop shoving it in his face. He sighed and dropped down to sit on top of his trunk to wait for the rest of the Weasleys to finish getting ready. Some days he wondered why he was still friends with them.

Remus and Sirius stood next to him, talking quietly to each other as they cast quick glances around the hall. For a moment, Harry wondered what they were looking for. After a final perusal of the area Remus turned back to Harry's godfather with a smile and a nod. Sirius met his gaze with a grin and nudged Harry's shoulder with his elbow.

"We've got a present for you," he said in a low voice. Remus glanced over and smiled before shifting casually to block Ron and Hermione's view of Harry and Sirius. His godfather kneeled down, pulling a thin package wrapped in butcher's paper from his pocket. "You'll be able to use this to get in contact with us." He handed the bundle over. "Just, ah, don't tell anyone about it. It's not really something most people approve of."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Political reasons mainly," said Remus with a shrug. "The enchantments on it prevents them from using any of the spells that pull memories from objects on it. Anything that can't be used in court tends to make the Ministry twitchy."

Sirius shrugged in agreement. "That and most of the families that have these are on the Darker side of things. Not," he said quickly when Harry went to give him back the package in alarm, "that they're Dark objects! They're just the sort of thing that a Dark family would find useful. Your dad had one of these, actually; his parents gave him one before his first year."

His dad…? Harry blinked down at the parcel with a sense of awe. "Thank you," he said. Sirius laid his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed.

"No problem, kiddo. Just remember that you can talk to us at any time." They smiled, and Harry tucked the bundle away just before Tonks and Kingsley walked out of the kitchen. The four adults nodded at each other in greeting. The Aurors huddled at the base of the stairs as they had a quiet discussion. Moody soon joined them; their talk quickly turned heated. Harry watched them absently, not really paying attention as he tried to guess what it was that his godfathers had given him.

Something that was but wasn't illegal; something that Dark families would want but was acceptable enough for the Potters to consider using… Impervious to memory spells and tame enough for an average first year. Maybe it was because Harry had never really been normal but he couldn't think of anything that would fit. It probably wasn't anywhere near as extraordinary as a Philosopher's Stone or as dangerous as Tom Riddle's diary.

Well, he would find out soon enough he supposed.

Several minutes later, Ginny and the twins were in the entrance hall finally ready to head out. Harry sighed heavily as he stood up and ignored the unsubtle coy smile the red-haired girl sent his way. Why couldn't they have packed last night? They wouldn't have had to rush through breakfast, and the rest of them wouldn't have had to sit and wait. Was a little consideration too much to ask for? Maybe it was.

He scowled at his hands as the irritation he was quickly becoming very familiar with settled under his skin. Harry wasn't sure just what was setting him off but he was tired of it, whatever it was. Though he felt he rather deserved to be angry. After all, wasn't it Harry who had been used in a ritual? Wasn't it Harry who had been forced to spend most of his summer with people who hated his very existence? And wasn't he the one who'd nearly been expelled for defending himself and his cousin?

There was nothing wrong with being a bit moody about things, nothing at all. So yeah, he shouldn't have yelled at his friends but if they'd at least tried to tell him what was going on – or, god forbid, just talked to him – Harry wouldn't have in the first place. It wasn't as though he liked being at odds with them. He just…

He just wanted to know what the hell was going on!

The sound of Moody's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Well, we've best be going. Can't afford to be any later now." He gave the twins and Ginny a suspicious stare as he said this. It was a little ridiculous; Harry doubted they'd purposely dawdled as part of some nefarious plan.

"Just a moment, Alastor." Everyone turned to see Dumbledore step through the kitchen doorway with a genial smile on his face. He continued, "I need to speak with Harry for a moment."

"And ya couldn't of done that an hour ago?" He kept his false eye on the aging Wizard and nodded at Harry. "Hurry up boy, and keep it short."

"Yes sir." Harry followed the Headmaster upstairs and into the drawing room. The room was still rather dusty despite the many weeks of work put into cleaning it up. Awkwardly, Harry stood in the middle of the room waiting for Dumbledore to say something. He tried to ignore the growing well of anger in his stomach when the Headmaster refused to meet his gaze.

"Harry, I've been informed that you've been having the occasional dream which allows you to witness Voldemort's actions from his perspective. Is this true?"

How did he – Harry had only told Hermione and Ron about that! And they went and told Dumbledore, even after he had asked them not to? He couldn't believe it. How could they do that to him? After all they had been through?

"Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry swallowed back the urge to yell at someone and nodded.

"Uh, yeah." There was no use lying about it now, he supposed. "The first one was at the beginning of last year and there had only been one or two till the end of the school year." Harry paused and winced. Maybe if he had said something then, Cedric would still be alive… "But lately, they've started to happen a lot more frequently. And my scar's been hurting more." He tried not to squirm too much but the whole thing really freaked him out. The last thing he wanted was a front-stage pass to Voldemort's insane melodramatic tendencies and that was what he had.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "I see," he said. "I've taken the liberty of arranging Occlumency lessons for you, to help solve this problem. I expect you to put forth your best effort to learn all your instructor has to teach you."

"Okay…" Harry had a bad feeling about this.

"Starting the second week of classes, every Wednesday evening at eight o'clock, you will attend Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape," – oh dear Merlin, they would kill each other! – "under the guise of remedial Potions tutoring. Harry, you can't tell anyone about the true nature of these lessons. Do you understand?" At this, he gave the young Gryffindor's forehead a long stare.

"Yes sir."

"Well, you've best be off." Harry nodded at the dismissal and hurried from the room. At the bottom of the stairs, Sirius, Remus and Moody were waiting. The others had apparently gone ahead. He grabbed hold of his trunk as Sirius shifted into his Animagus form.

"I'll be Side-Apparating ya, Potter." Moody curled his hand around Harry's elbow. He gave the other Order members a parting nod, and with a crack they were gone. Harry's body felt like it was being stretched and squeezed through a small rubber tube as the world temporarily flickered out of existence.

They arrived on platform nine-and-three-quarters just as suddenly as they had left.

Harry pressed his hand to his mouth as he took deep breaths through his nose to stem the nauseous feeling in his stomach. Why couldn't he just stick to brooms or Hippogriffs? It would be so much easier on his organs. He spent a few more minutes lamenting the various Wizarding transportations and their horrible effects as he recovered.

"Alright there, Harry?" He squinted up at Remus and tried to nod but gave up when it made him want to vomit. Moody muttered something beside him. "I'd say 'you get used to it' but I don't think you would believe me."

"Nope," he managed to gasp out. Once Harry had himself under control, he smiled at his old professor. Snuffles chose that moment to tackle him, and they roughhoused for a bit until Hermione got annoyed and began to pull him away.

"The train is going to leave soon," she said as she dragged him away; Ron began to drag Harry's trunk along behind them. He sighed, biting back a scowl, and waved at his godfathers and the old Auror. Remus waved back while Snuffles made a valiant attempt to do the same. He felt a genuine smile across his face.

"Bye Remus! Bye Snuffles and behave!" The black dog barked happily in reply. Harry laughed happily. With a mischievous smile, Harry called out, "Bye Uncle Al!" Moody jerked slightly and looked around in suspicion to see who had heard; besides him, Remus politely looked away to cover a grin.

The trio of students stepped onto the steam train and headed to the compartment Ron had claimed earlier. Hermione barely managed to wait until they were alone to start asking questions.

"What did Professor Dumbledore want, Harry?" Hermione said eagerly. She tapped her foot with impatience when he didn't answer right away. "Harry!"

"He told me not to tell anyone."

"But Harry," Ron said, "we're your friends! He won't mind if you tell us." That was probably true but Harry couldn't help but feel vindicated over their frustration. He had spent all summer asking them to tell him something and they gave the same excuse he was using now. Not to mention they had told Dumbledore something he had asked them to keep quiet. The two of them would have to wait a while before he considered trusting them again.

He shrugged carelessly as he turned to look out the window. Only a handful of students, still saying their 'goodbyes' to their families, lingered on the platform. "Dumbledore said not to tell anyone. So, I'm not going to." Of course, they might try to go to Dumbledore to complain; Harry doubted he would get in trouble for actually following directions though. Hermione started to protest before he cut her off, "Don't you guys need to report for Prefect duty soon?"

Ron groaned loudly, and Hermione gave Harry a concerned look before she nodded. "You know you can trust us," she said; Ron nodded in enthusiastic agreement behind her. "Just – we are here when you're ready to tell us."

"Okay. Thanks Hermione."

"We'll see you later then." She smiled and pushed the protesting red-head out of the compartment. He forced himself to wait for several long minutes before he relaxed completely. Finally, he could have some peace. It would be perfect if only his headache would go away.

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><p>Harry dragged his feet as he headed down the dungeon hallway. He tried not to think about anything; tried not to worry about still not knowing what Occlumency was despite hours of searching or the jeers and taunts he'd endured from his classmates. Harry knew that he wasn't desperate for attention, or a liar, or insane – but hadn't someone said that you couldn't tell you were crazy if you were? No, he couldn't think like that. The Prophet were the desperate liars, not him. How could anyone believe them, when they routinely ruined people's lives just to make a few more coins?<p>

Harry stopped in front of a door and forced himself to take a deep breath.

The door to Snape's office had never seemed to be this intimidating before, even at the beginning of second year after the Ford Angelo had crashed into the Whomping Willow. Harry spent a few minutes tracing each scrap and gouge in the door. Why did he have to do this again? It wasn't like his visions from Voldemort were anything to really worry about, anyway. Maybe he should just hide out in an empty classroom for a few hours, and then head back to the common room… He had just started trying to pick out faces in the knots when the door was wrenched open; he jumped back. The Potions master loomed over him, a dark sneer on his gaunt face.

"You are late." Snape turned around and headed deeper into the room. Harry hesitated at the doorway. "Don't just stand there, Potter! Get in here."

With great reluctance, he stepped into the room. It hadn't changed much at all since he'd last been in the office, in his second year. Numerous jars filled with potions ingredients – only some of which he could recognize – lined the shelves covering two walls; the wall adjacent to them held a bookshelf containing potions texts and journals, and a small portrait of a dark haired woman with sullen eyes. She looked familiar but Harry couldn't place where he had seen her, and Snape was snapping at him to pay attention.

"I don't expect you to understand any of what I will be teaching you, given your previous performances in class." He paused to sneer at Harry's indignant glare. Maybe he would do better if Malfoy and his gang didn't try to sabotage his work or if Hermione didn't make him second guess himself all the time. "Regardless of my misgivings, I am teaching you Occlumency on Professor Dumbledore's request. You will put forth your best effort or you will be spending the rest of your Hogwarts career in detention! I won't tolerate you wasting my time; do you understand?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. Snape's eyes narrowed into sharp slits.

"What was that?"

"Yes, sir, I understand."

With a sneer, the professor pulled out his wand. "Clear your mind," he said.

"What?" Harry asked but it was too late. Something jagged tore into what felt like his brain, cutting swiftly and deep, tearing passed any obstacle in its path. Pain followed in its wake, and instinctively he tried to claw at it, tried to catch it and throw it out of his head. Flickers of memories rose up, distracting him from his task. His cupboard, Aunt Petunia's distain-filled face, the crack of his glasses snapping under the weight of a punch and the pain of the broke bridge digging into his nose. Harry wanted the images to stop. He wanted this thing – Snape – out of his head!

Harry tried to box in the intruder with imaginary iron walls, but Snape brushed them aside as though they were cobwebs as he pushed deeper into his mind. A memory floated up and Snape latched onto it, pulling them both into it. The memory was from the end of his first year of school. His teacher had expressed concerns over his home life, and his aunt and uncle had been furious.

("You freak!" howled Aunt Petunia. "How dare – What did you say? What lies did you tell them?" Her face was blotched with ugly patches of red; her jaw was so tense that the tendons around it stood out in sharp relief. Harry had never seen her so angry. She wrapped her thin bony hands around his shoulders, squeezing as she shook him. "Tell me, boy."

"I didn't tell them anything! They – they just kept –" His head snapped painfully to the side and he blinked back tears. When he turned back to his aunt, her hand was poised to strike again. Harry's cheek throbbed with a hot pain.

"Don't lie to me.")

He tried to yell, tried to pry the memory away – tried to do something – but Snape just ignored him, easily batting aside his feeble attempts and continued digging deeper. Dimly, he could hear himself screaming. His voice sounded so very far away, garbled and distant as though he was underwater. Everything hurt; it burned like hot sticky tar creeping along his nerve endings. It was worse than the Torture Curse he'd suffered at the end of last year, worse than the knife-point pain from the meeting of Voldemort's magic and the not-quite-enough protection from his mother's sacrifice. Oh Merlin, he just wanted it to stop!

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a barrier began cracking.

Harry could still hear himself scream, louder and louder until it was like he was shrieking into his own ear. A strange familiar-but-not pressure built up somewhere behind his scar. It grew, twisting and snaking its way through his head as it searched. Slipping like oil through half-remembered dreams and fractured memories, the pressure crept along leaving a thin film of something he knew, but didn't.

Snape didn't seem to notice it or realize that Harry had grown too weak to fight back. He dug into another memory, this one of the zoo incident just before his first Hogwarts letter had been sent. He tore into it, picking it apart until he could focus on the negative emotions Harry now associated with it. The humiliation of being unable to defend himself, and the quiet shame of having something in common with Voldemort.

The barrier shattered.

A different sort of agony swept over him; flickers of thoughts and emotions not his own cut through his consciousness, uprooting shaky beliefs and quick assumptions. Hundreds of whispery voices echoed in his ears, muttering all at once and he thought he could recognize a few of them. This tidal wave slammed into Snape's presence, ripped apart his footing in Harry's psyche, and forced him out. Abruptly, the constant pain Harry had been under since this started stopped. A soft silvery laugh continued to ring mockingly in his ears.

With a creeping slowness of someone waking from a long sleep, Harry returned to himself. He was shaking heavily. Tears coated his cheeks and clogged his throat. Slowly, Harry swallowed and chanced a look his prof– no, Snape. He didn't deserve any of the respect Harry might have had for him, not anymore.

Snape stared at him with wide eyes. Blood dripped from the man's nose and the pale sheen of sweat covered his skin. He did nothing but stare with something akin to fear in his eyes as Harry forced himself to stand.

"I'm leaving," was all Harry managed before he bolted from the room, racing down corridors and up stairs to the one room where no one would think to look for him. Startled students watched him tear by, all acutely aware of his disheveled appearance. He ran, ducking into secret passageways that ended four floors up only to take another that let him out on the main level. He continued to do this until he was sure that no one was following him before he snuck into the abandoned girl's bathroom on the second floor. In his third year, Harry had begun to hide out there just to get away from all of the stares and whispers that followed him.

And right now, that was what he wanted – to be alone.

Fortunately, Myrtle had deserted the room in favor of the Prefects' bathroom last year and had yet to return. Quickly Harry darted into the room and to a small alcove near the back and tucked into a corner invisible from the doorway. It had a short protrusion that was just about the same size as a daybed and was cushioned. He had no idea what the alcove was for, or why a lavatory would need something like it but he was grateful for it. It would be really uncomfortable to have to sit on the ground.

Harry stayed huddled there long after the curfew bell tolled listening to the constant drip of water. He tried to avoid thinking about what had happened in Snape's office. Harry would not be going to another Occlumency lesson; he'd put up with visions of Voldemort's actions. That would be easier to deal with.

Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

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><p>Edited: 21 Jan 2012<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_.

Pairings: Lord Voldemort/Harry Potter;

Warnings: dark; slash; dubious-consent (sexual and otherwise); canon deviations;

Summary: An Occlumency lesson has an unexpected side effect and Harry is the one paying for it.

Author's Notes: So. So, so. This chapter is a bit later than I intended but there really wasn't much I could do about that. A fried computer is a fried computer. Fortunately though, TIKY and all the other fics I'm working on were saved on my flash drive, so I didn't lose any of those files. Yay for small favors.

Any feedback or constructive criticisms would be very appreciated.

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><p><strong>Till I've Kept You<strong>

**Chapter Two**

Sunlight streamed through the windows and straight onto his eyelids, burning red afterimages into his brain. He groaned, rolling over as he reached for covers that weren't there. The bed he was laying in was more uncomfortable than it should have been, especially since Harry was at Hogwarts. Frowning, he rolled onto his other side and promptly toppled off the edge.

Harry stared blankly at the vaulted-arch ceiling of what was most definitely not his dorm. Cold stone dug into his back; water trickled steadily from a broken faucet. Somehow, Harry had managed to fall asleep in Myrtle's bathroom of all places. Hermione was going to pitch a fit.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet making sure to carefully stretch out his sore muscles. Depending on what time it was Harry might be able to make it back to Gryffindor before his well-meaning friends staked out the common room to take a hot shower. That was rather unlikely though, so he took his time rubbing out the kinks in his neck and shoulders he could reach before heading over to a sink. He splashed cold water on his face, quickly backing away afterwards to avoid looking at himself in the mirror.

Harry didn't want to see the sorry state that he was in or be reminded of what happened. He didn't want to even think about what caused it. At least, not for a very long while – never if he could help it. That seemed like a great idea.

On his way to the tower, he let his thoughts drift through topics he hadn't really bothered with before. He waved back absently at a pretty blond Ravenclaw he didn't recognize who had smiled whimsically at him. By the time he reached the tower, Harry had realized he had no idea what he wanted to do after Hogwarts. Becoming an Auror sounded interesting but he was sick of being forced into life and death situations. Maybe he should become a shopkeeper or a librarian? Being a librarian sounded rather nice, actually. He would have to remember to ask Madam Pince about what sort of things Wizarding librarians were expected to know.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice he had reached the entrance of the Gryffindor common room and was just beginning to walk past it.

"Oh my," said the Fat Lady. "Now where exactly are you going at this hour? Shouldn't you be in bed, deary?"

"Huh?"

He stopped and blinked, glancing over his shoulder at the painting. The Fat Lady gave him a stern look that was ruined by the full wine glass in her hand.

"Um, well…" Harry said sheepishly as he moved to stand in front the entrance way to Gryffindor. "Probably." He spoke the password before she could comment and hurried though the opening. For a moment, he thought that he might actually make it until breakfast before Hermione began her inquisition, but as he stepped onto the bottom of the stairs someone cleared their throat behind him. Harry sighed, gazed longingly in the direction of the showers, and then turned around.

Hermione sat primly in an overstuffed armchair, already dressed for the day and with a thick book opened across her lap. Her mouth was drawn in a tight, flat line and her thick hair seemed to bristle with her disapproval. She stared, waiting. Harry studiously ignored the spark of annoyance in his gut.

"Good morning," he said.

"That's it…? 'Good morning?'" she asked with disbelief. "You wander off without telling anyone, go missing for the night, sneak back in the next morning, and that's all you have to say? I cannot believe this! Do you even realize how worried we were? Do you? My god, you could have been – could have –" She trailed off with a shaking breath.

"Yet here I am, safe and sound." Harry winced at his dark tone. He didn't mean to sound that bitter. "Look," he said softly, "there isn't much I can say. Dumbledore –"

"Dumbledore what, Harry? That excuse doesn't work, especially since you never cared about the opinions of authority figures before."

"It's none of your business, Hermione," he said.

"None of my business? Of course it is! You're my best friend; you can talk to me about anything."

"There's nothing to talk about," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower." Harry turned sharply and began walking.

He ignored her calls as he ascended the stairway to the fifth year dormitory to grab clean clothes and his toiletries. Dean and Neville were just starting to wake up. They mumbled sleepy greetings and didn't bother to ask where he had been. Soon he was standing under a spray of hot water, trying not to think. Harry was doing well for a while until he ran out of tiles to count and against his will, his mind turned to the events of last night.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to think about the whole thing. On one hand, Dumbledore had asked him to learn whatever it was that Occlumency was supposed to do but at the same time the Headmaster had Snape teaching him. Not to mention that Harry still had no real idea what exactly it was that he was learning beyond the obvious. How was he supposed to get anywhere with a combination like that?

Harry froze at a sudden thought. Dumbledore wouldn't force him to continue after what happened would he? Not after – after…

He scrubbed roughly at his skin as though he could erase the effects the Occlumency lesson had on him if he rubbed hard enough. The dirty feeling never left, even as he scrubbed until his skin was nearly raw. Eventually, he gave up and quickly finished showering. Harry sped through the rest of his daily self-maintenance, grabbed his book bag, and raced through the common room to avoid Hermione.

The hallways were still deserted as he made his way to the Great Hall. The sunlight streaming through the windows warred with the chilled temperature of the stone, creating a strangely gloomy atmosphere that seemed to drain him of energy. Harry didn't meet anyone on his way. Only a small group of students would be up at this hour, and most of those would stay in their common rooms until it was a quarter after to avoid the chill. Harry was glad; he didn't want to deal with people who refused to actually use their brains.

He reached the Great Hall in record time.

It was empty except for the blond girl from earlier, who sat near one of the ends of the Ravenclaw table and was stirring a fairly large cup of black coffee. A cup of tea the same size was next to her, still steaming as it waited for its drinker. Harry lingered at the doors glancing between the girl, the tea and Gryffindor table several times before he made his decision. As if he had done it a hundred of times, Harry strolled down the length of the Ravenclaw table.

"Good morning," he greeted the girl as he sat down. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes I did, thank you for asking. I think you did too, even if where you slept was a little out of the ordinary." She turned to smile at him as she said this. "My name is Luna." Something about her was rather vague, which made it difficult to telling what she was thinking. It was like trying to peer down to one end of a foggy street from the opposite corner. Anything beyond ten paces in front of you was little more than the impression of its silhouette.

"I'm Harry."

He didn't ask how she knew where he had slept. Myrtle's bathroom was well-known among the Hogwarts population, so it wasn't much of a stretch to think that someone might have dropped in after he had fallen asleep. That made him feel rather paranoid, but it wasn't as though he had any way of knowing since he hadn't cast a proximity ward or anything similar. Harry would have to remember to start using those; some privacy sounded wonderful.

"Are you enjoying the, uh, festivities this year?" he asked.

"It's been very noisy," Luna said. "The Queen of Hearts and her Card Army are causing things to come loose, and I haven't seen heads or tails of the Cheshire in a long while."

"Maybe he's waiting for Alice? She might be running late; it must be difficult to find the right rabbit hole, after all." He paused and blinked. "Not to mention it's rather tricky to keep track of a cat that can do whatever, whenever."

"Alice has already stumbled into Wonderland, Harry," she said softly. The solemnity in her voice made him tense. Harry looked at her from the corner of his eye and found that she was staring at him. Her gaze was strangely focused. Slowly, he turned to face her and something in the pit of his stomach froze. As she went on, Harry found it hard to breathe properly. "Alice has been stumbling through Wonderland for a long time but the Cheshire hasn't appeared to help her long." Here she paused. Luna sighed sadly and looked away. "I wonder if he forgot? He has been waiting for her for a long time…"

Harry forced himself to turn back to his tea. He drizzled a small amount of honey into it and was just beginning to stir when the doors opened. Several students from various Houses meandered into the room, each giving the pair odd looks.

Briefly, Harry wondered what that was about before deciding he didn't care. Determined for something to go his way for once, he turned back to Luna and started a long discussion about Muggle literature. They were just starting on the Oz series when hands dropped onto his shoulder and forced him to turn around.

He panicked, thinking it was Snape, and jabbed his elbow into the stomach of the person behind him. The person grunted and let go, and Harry spun around, wand halfway out of his pocket before he realized it was Ron. Harry blushed a bright red.

"What was that for?" Ron exclaimed loudly, drawing stares from nearby students. Next to him, Hermione sighed.

"Er, sorry," Harry said. "I thought – Well, you startled me." He quickly shoved his wand back into his pocket, and waved them to a seat. They remained where they were though Ron shifted as though to accept the invite, but Hermione nudged his elbow and gave the redhead a flat look. Inwardly rolling his eyes, Harry asked, "What is it?"

"This is the Ravenclaw table."

"Yes. Yes, it is. And?"

Two first years sitting nearby giggled. With a huff of annoyance and a growing scowl, Hermione said, "As Gryffindors we can't sit at another House's table."

There was actually a rule about that? Harry gave her a blank stare and then turned to Luna. She shrugged in a vague sort of way. Ah, so there wasn't. This was just Hermione telling him what he could and couldn't do again. Bemused, he turned back to his friends with a wan smile.

"No one has told me to leave yet, so I don't think they mind," he said.

"But mate –" Ron began but Harry carried on as though he couldn't hear him.

"And I don't see why the Sorting Hat would yammer on about inter-House unity if there really was a rule like that." Satisfied that he had gotten his point across, Harry resumed his breakfast and his talk with Luna. He could hear Hermione muttering darkly as she dragged Ron to the Gryffindor table. He was sort of ashamed that he had just brushed off his best friends like that but Harry didn't want to deal with the stares and questions he'd get from his fellow Gryffindors. The Ravenclaws seemed content to leave him alone for now.

And, part of him murmured, he didn't need some pathetic little busybody telling him what to do or how to think.

Harry's day passed by quietly until Defense Against the Dark Arts. Whispers and pointed stares followed him through the halls, but after a week of getting vague answers or a flat stare in response, no one tried to ask him any questions about his take on the events at the end of fourth year. If they didn't believe him than they weren't going to believe him now; so what was the point? Harry had better things to do instead of appeasing the masses. Umbridge was after his head for reasons Harry couldn't quite comprehend, and the OWL exams were definitely not going to pass themselves.

He stood near the edge of the crowd of students waiting to be let into the Defense classroom, pretending he didn't notice Hermione's reproachful gaze. Ron stood between them, chatting nervously about Quidditch tryouts to fill the heavy, awkward silence. They had been like this since the end of breakfast. Hermione had decided that she would accept Harry's apology though he had no idea what the girl wanted him to apologize about; he had told her as much. It had been a while since he had seen her get as flustered as she did then.

Fighting back a yawn, the black haired boy blinked slowly and raised a hand to rub at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. He readjusted them. The soft din of students talking behind him trailed off as the faint click of heels echoed down the corridor. The small throng of teenagers edged away from the classroom door, parting to give Professor Dolores Umbridge enough room to unlock it. All were silent as she ushered them into the room and everyone quickly hurried to their seats.

Even though it had barely been two weeks there were rumors going around, very unsettling rumors about the sort of things Umbridge thought were acceptable punishments. Harry didn't know much of the details, but apparently they were bad enough that the sixth and seventh year Hufflepuffs were quietly putting together a petition to make it mandatory for third years and below to serve detentions supervised by their Head of House. He didn't want to think about what sort of thing would cause them to do that, especially since the Wizarding World thought it was alright to send first years into the Forbidden Forest for detentions.

Umbridge scurried to her desk and settle primly into her cushioned chair. "Good afternoon," she said, with an oily, simpering smile.

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chorused back to her.

"Today, you will be beginning on chapter two," Umbridge said. "I have assigned questions one through five for today's assignment. If you finish before the period is over, you may read ahead or begin working on this week's essay. Does everyone understand?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class replied.

"Wonderful. You may begin."

The rustling of cloth and paper, and the scratching of quills filled the room with a weak din of noise. Harry kept his head down, covering his grimaces with his hand as he read through the assigned portion of the text, and tried not to draw attention to himself. This had become his philosophy for every class he had this year. No one – student or staff – seemed willing to leave him alone, or treat him like every other teenager in the castle. Oh no, they all wanted inside the Boy-Who-Lived's head.

Harry gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue reading. He was so focused on being focused that it took him a while to notice that Hermione wasn't reading her textbook or taking notes. In fact, he realized as he turned to give her a questioning glance, she wasn't doing any work at all. Instead, her back was ramrod straight and her hand was raised high in the air as she waited for the professor to acknowledge her.

He turned swiftly to Ron, but the redhead was just as confused. One by one, their classmates slowly stopped working until they were all glancing back and forth between Hermione, Umbridge, and Harry.

This wasn't going to turn out well. For the scant handful of Defense classes this year, Harry's luck had managed to hold and any debate about the Ministry's reaction to his and Dumbledore's statements last year had been dodged. Harry didn't think he would be so lucky this time.

The class waited in tense silence for Umbridge to look up from the papers she was signing. Eventually, she did with a pinched expression on her toad-like face.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" She smiled pleasantly in a thin, condescending manner.

"I want to know why the Ministry is ignoring the growing threat –"

"That is because there is no threat," Umbridge said in a slow drawled tone similar to the one Harry's aunt normally reserved for when he had done something especially freakish. "The Dark Lord is dead, Miss Granger. There is no reason for the Ministry to take action against a dead man."

"But –"

"Please be quiet, Miss Granger." The squat woman stood, carefully adjusting her pale pink and crème cardigan, and gave each student a cold assessing stare as she spoke. "The Ministry is aware that at the end of the last semester, Albus Dumbledore told you that the Dark Lord had returned and one of you had witnessed his resurrection." Umbridge turned to Harry with a nasty gleam in her eyes. "Tell us, Mr. Potter, was the Headmaster telling the truth?"

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he felt strangely light-headed. "It –" Harry tried to say something, anything but his throat closed around the words. His heartbeat sped up as Harry began panicking. There was something wrong but he couldn't get his body to obey. His eyes blinked, and Harry heard himself meekly say, "I only know what I saw."

That – that wasn't what he had wanted to say. Harry tried to speak again, to take back those words but his mouth refused to respond.

Umbridge looked surprised and rather uncertain before she recovered.

"I see," she said with a horrible smile, and then nodded sharply. "Well, there you have it. It was a terrible, terrible final task for a tournament that should have never been allowed to happen." She nodded again and sat down.

Harry tried to drum up the anger he should have been feeling, but the fuzziness still hadn't left him and instead, he found himself turning back to his textbook. He saw the appalled expression on Hermione and Ron's faces out of the corner of his eyes. His fingers tightened around his quill. The rest of the class was slowly turning back to their books as well, and eventually his friends did the same.

All the while Harry's scar burned.

* * *

><p>End Notes: The way Umbridge is portrayed in the series has kind of always bugged me. I mean, she's a career politician. It's a little strange that she would get flustered by a bunch of teenagers. But then, she isn't one of the main baddies, so I guess she doesn't get to be competent. Oh well.<p> 


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